Lie
by DuchessOfDementia
Summary: Rosebud lips and watery eyes. "Your tongue is like wine." Klaus has never liked obeying social conventions.
1. Fleeting

**Okay, 3x11 blew my mind, and I'm totally jumping on the Klaroline bandwagon. I minor in psychology, and I've found Klaus' character to be utterly fascinating since he was introduced on the show. Due to my background in psychological study, I hope that I can illuminate some of my reasoning behind shipping them in this story, as well as the logic behind it. Enjoy, sweetlings. **

xxxxxx

She couldn't make sense of it.

Caroline fingered the divine diamond encrusted bracelet, her brow drawn together. It made _no_ sense. He was cruel, the devil incarnate. He cared only for himself. He _murdered_ Jenna. He manipulated, compelled, killed indiscriminately.

So why, _why_ had he done what he did? Why did he appear in her bedroom, speaking gently and quietly, offering to make the pain go away? Why did he persuade her off the precarious edge of death? Why did he even _care_?

She couldn't puzzle it out. There was an obvious answer—he was planning something, and had kept her alive, manipulated her, to achieve it.

But she couldn't riddle that out, either. Why would _she_ be a key aspect of any plot of his? Certainly, she was close to Elena and Stefan and that lot, but so was Bonnie, Matt, Jeremy, Alaric. She couldn't figure out what his ulterior motive with _her_, specifically, could possibly be. And if he really wanted her to do something for him, why not simply compel her?

All she could think about was his hand, strong and cool, supporting the back of her head as he gently steered her to his wrist. She thought of him whispering '_There you go, sweetheart_..._have at it'_ into her hair, even sighing a bit as her teeth pierced the surprisingly soft skin. She had felt, in that moment, that he was so much more fallible than everyone thought; his flesh could be torn like any other, his blood flowed just as freely as a human's.

And she thought, guiltily, that as she had drunk that metallic liquid from his wrist, she had enjo_y_ed it. His breath was sweet, warm and heavy in her hair, his pulse quivering like a gentle bass drum. The experience had been sensational, and she _hated_ herself for feeling that way.

xxxxxx

He was a thousand years old.

There was nothing he hadn't seen; nothing he hadn't done.

He'd fallen in love dozens of times, and each time he had either killed the girl for one of many various reasons (infidelity, the desire to leave him, etc.) or she had simply died. Once, he'd even fallen in love with a man—an English lad called James, from London. That was in the 1600's.

He had murdered thousands of people, suppressed his own family, tortured, raped, beaten, manipulated, abused. All because in those critical moments, in those _climaxes_ of violence, he felt _high_. His own power hummed in his veins, his mind soared to unimaginable heights. He felt, at those times, that he was _godlike_, and that his mother, his father, his siblings; they had all been wrong about him. He was better than _any_ of them. He had _never_ been nothing. He was the most powerful, most unstoppable force on earth. He was _Klaus_.

He was not surprised nor perturbed by his sudden attraction to the vacuous blonde. Klaus was a lover of women; he knew how to enjoy their beauty, their company. He knew how to please them as well as how to twist them to his whim. A barely-eighteen-year-old vampire from Virginia was hardly anything to worry over.

But the..._circumstances_ surrounding her were less than favourable. Her friends, and his current disagreements with them, may prove to be a bit of an obstacle, he thought. Nevertheless, though, he was certain he would end up having what he wanted. He _always_ got what he wanted.

Never mind that, at the present time, what he wanted was a headstrong, arrogant little vampire who hated him more than anything else in the world.

xxxxxx

He's a constant point of conversation amongst her friends. They speak of him as an adversary, a faceless villain to defeat, like a boss in a Mario game. To them he isn't _alive_; he has no feelings, no desires, no dreams. And Caroline wonders, vaguely, why she is annoyed by that.

She wonders why she has recently been analysing his past behaviour so intently. She wonders why she's so determined to learn more about him, to piece together the enigma called _Klaus_. She wonders why Damon's drunken oaths to murder him bother her so much.

The only one who knows about the moment she and Klaus shared is Matt; Tyler, Elena and the others only know that he cured her, which they all take as an obligatory sort of thing since Stefan was threatening to turn Elena. Only Matt understands why her face gathers and her eyes turn stormy when her friends speak of Klaus like a demon. He _saved_ _her life._ Whether it was for personal reasons or otherwise, he deliberately pulled her away from death, and she couldn't help but feel that she was in his debt for that.

For a while she thought she might have, somehow, been sired; but that made no sense. That would mean that Damon and Katherine would be sired to him as well, since they, too, drank his blood when they were bitten by a hybrid (and werewolf, respectively). No, that wasn't how it worked; so it must have been organic, what she was feeling; real. This guilt, and confusion, and interest; it was all _real_. And that sort of made her want to claw her own eyes out.

She had to tell herself he was fucking with her. It was the only way to stay sane at this point. In order for her to remember what side she was on, and where her loyalties lay, she had to set aside all of her confusion and teenage idiocy and remember that he was the very _definition_ of a monster. He was, she genuinely believed, the _devil_. Wasn't the devil an angel to begin with, after all? That would make him beautiful, but evil. She thought that sentiment applied rather nicely to the soulless Original who could not leave well enough alone.

All she had every wanted was to be loved. To have friends to shop and cry and laugh with. To have a good-looking boyfriend who was absolutely besotted with her. To go off to college and be fawned over some more. It had all been looking so perfect for her.

And then—_**crash**_. She had been riding in Tyler's car, and the next time she was awake, she wasn't alive anymore. But...not quite _dead_, either. It wasn't _fair_. She'd done nothing wrong. All she'd wanted was to have a happy, dreamy life. To get married around the age of twenty-five and have a few kids (then subsequently hit the gym unerringly for three months to work off all that pregnancy weight). To be happy. _Normal_.

Who had she pissed off so strongly in the universe for this to happen, she wondered? If God or Buddha or whoever had some divine plan for her, she was sure she didn't want to be a part of it.

And now she was forced into some philosophical internal battle about the nature of good and evil? Like, what the _fuck_?

Whatever. However badly Klaus had managed to mind-fuck her, the simple answer was that she still loved Tyler with all of her heat. He was sired to Satan; she knew that. But he had told her he loved her, and he had meant it—she could tell. There had been no stillness in his eyes, no venom. Only warmth. It was _Klaus_ who was ruining everything. If he were dead, Tyler would return to normal and everything would be wonderful again, right? That was all she wanted, after all.

But...now, the idea of killing him left a bad taste in her mouth. She knew that that was probably his goal—to make her believe he was some multi-layered good guy who had simply been weathered by centuries of cruelty—but she didn't buy it. Not for one minute.

...Definitely not.

Of course not.

...Don't be silly.

xxxxxx

**Yee. Short, oh well. I'll add to it in the next chapter, yeah? I intend to follow the show's plot in this fic, so expect a new chapter when the next episode is out. Klaroline ftw, haha. Review, please? I dearly love your reviews. **


	2. Necessary

Some people might have been a bit more stung about having been daggered by their own brother, but Elijah was beyond that. Violence was as much a part of our family as love was; perhaps even more. Our entire history was rooted in death, hatred and blood. It came as no surprise to anyone that we should practise it on each other.

Finn, Kol, and Rebekah, however, were less mature.

I had expected as much from Kol and Rebekah; they had always been the..._temperamental_ ones. But Finn? That was a tad surprising. I had pictured confusion, at least, to be his first emotion. He was neutralised in the thirteenth century, after all, and I imagined he had a few questions about the light fixtures and the strange clothes we were all wearing. He couldn't even speak modern English properly, I thought with a smug, inward sneer. Finn had always been the slowest of our bunch; I found it a bit ironic that even after a thousand years he was left in the dark.

Mother's appearance...changed things, though. I had saved her corpse all those years ago and had a witch spell her asleep rather than dead. I was more than a bit perturbed that someone had awakened her without my consent—the event stunk of Stefan's interference—but nonetheless. Her forgiveness, and Rebekah's, was enough for now.

Finn, Kol and Elijah were a bit more difficult to convince. They mucked about for a while, unable to decide whether their loyalty to Mother—and their obedience of her word—was stronger than their hated of me. And I was smug about that, too.

Rebekah chose to try and induct Mother and Finn into the modern world. She may have some success with Mother, I thought, but Finn's brain would probably melt from all the change. Rebekah brought them clothes to wear and tried to teach Finn to speak properly (Mother could already speak well enough; being a witch, she had observed the world in her slumber).

Kol was unbearably thirsty after his revival, and he had never had a talent for curbing his appetite. Elijah and I did not attempt to thwart him when he left the house and drained four hikers in the woods, burning their corpses after he did. A nice gift for Sheriff Forbes, I thought.

Thinking of the Sheriff made me think of _her_ again—the enticing little nuisance whom I had nearly forgotten in the wake of my 'family reunion'. I wished I had thought to wait until she woke, if only to see her expression when the sun hit her eyes, she touched her neck, and she remembered what had happened. And, most of all, the look on her face when she discovered that little gift I'd left her. I bet she'd be breathless and shocked. And I bet speechlessness looked lovely on her.

"You've been quiet, Nik," Rebekah observed loftily while she lay strewn across a chaise. Sunbeams caught in her hair, giving it the extremely ironic look of a halo.

"Have I?" I answered coolly.

"Yes," she sighed, twisting around to sit up. "I know you better than anyone, brother, and you're acting queerly. And it hasn't got anything to do with our brothers, has it? You've dealt with their anger before. This is different."

I remained quiet, interested to hear her theory.

"So what is it? Got a new plot in mind?" she guessed, standing up and striding over to me. She circled me for a minute, never breaking her gaze, like a starving lioness closing in on a wounded gazelle. "Or... have you got a new pet?"

I was silent.

She smirked; I'd answered her question.

xxxx

The invitation.

The dress, the note, the ball; it all just spun around my head in fast-motion. I couldn't register any of it.

_...How __**ravishing**__ you look in that dress._

_The bracelet I gave you, what's your excuse for wearing that?_

_I know. _

I couldn't decide if I was elated, terrified, or deeply ashamed. I knew it would be impossibly easy to fall into his snare; he was so much older, smarter, and more practised than me. So why did I come, anyway? I convinced myself it was because Elena could never have enough vampires on her side. It was to protect Elena, of course.

...Of course.

It wasn't weak of me to admit he was beautiful. That was obvious; objective. But it shouldn't matter, right? The horrible things he's done; being beautiful shouldn't lessen the way I'm supposed to feel about him. I _hate_ him. I do. He's completely ruined Tyler's life, all the potential he could have achieved. He murdered Jenna. I can't stress it enough. He's _evil_.

So _why_. Why, logically, reasonably, _sanely_, could he ever be looking at me this way? With green-blue eyes, full of lust and want and admiration? Why would he say those things? What does he _want_ with me?

_I fancy you. _

_Is that so hard to believe?_

_You...you're beautiful, you're strong, full of light. _

_So you _aren't_ spoken for?_

I can't stand it. He's...confusing. _Totally_. Macabre and psychotic one minute, affectionate and charming the next. He's a _lie_. I shouldn't care, even a little bit.

So..._why_...

...ugh.

He's buttering me up, obviously. For what, I can't tell. For sex? To exploit me in his latest scheme? I don't know. I don't think I'll ever know.

But...why do I want to? So _badly_?

And why am I sitting here, dragging my finger along his sketch, imagining his strong hands pencilling it out? Why is my chest so light and airy as I think of how intently he must have looked at me in order to recreate my face so well? Why do I suddenly like the idea of letting him..._talk___to me?

xxxx

I never imagined the high I could achieve simply from the sight of her. All young and bright and fair; positively _glowing_; and dressed only in my gifts. It was...overwhelming.

Her naiveté and honesty enchanted me from the start. Well; _amused_, at first. But she was among the only people I'd ever encountered who were comfortable with being so blunt and reckless in the face of certain death. And, yes, the _death_ in this scenario was most certainly myself.

I tried charm. Then I tried blunt honesty; _I fancy you_ and all that, just putting it out in the open. Nothing worked. She was moral, extremely so. Reminded me irritatingly of Elijah. _Morality_. What a _crock_.

I can't recall a time when I wanted someone to approve of me so badly. She despised me, I knew. But _wanting_ something and _hating_ it often coincided; more than most people think. It's psychological, I'm told.

She feels both of those things for me, it's obvious; but I feel only one. It's disgusting, how attached I've become to this dense, small-town girl in such a short time. And even worse, I hardly mind. I find myself internally waxing poetic about her lovely, crystalline eyes, and her young, cheerful smile. And I _want_ her. Darkly. _Badly_.

I'm in her head; I know it. It's blatantly clear every time her brow furrows when she looks at me, or she blinks away, obviously puzzled. I'm competing with that stupid Tyler bloke for her; and I know that, if not for him, I'd have her already. But she's loyal, unshakable. And it only makes me want her more.

I'll have her. I _need_ to have her.

_I need to. _

xxx

**This week's episode was **_**unholy**_**. I squeed at least a dozen times, and it was hard for me to sit through all the Klaroline scenes again in order to get the dialogue right for this chapter. They are **_**flawless**_**. I just...**_**ugh**_**. I hope I did everything justice. I tried not to simply repeat everything that happened in the episode. Hopefully, in the future, TVD will provide us with some yummy Klaroline smex...or, at least, a loose enough plot that I can sneak some in without upsetting the timeline of the show and the accuracy of this fic. I don't know, guys. I really don't know. All I'm certain of is that I would probably cut off my left hand to sleep with Joseph Morgan. What a lovely...**_**everything**_**. He's just lovely altogether. Well, review, folks! I always love to hear your criticism! **

**By the way, I invite you all to join my forum, 'Mystic Falls Roleplay.' Only Alaric and Klaus are taken for now, and OCs are welcome. It would mean a lot to me to see you there! **


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